


Reversal

by notraelet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Cullen is the Red Templar General, Lyrium Addiction, M/M, Samson is the Wolf of Skyhold, Ships go up, Shit goes down, Templars are sad, and life goes on, basically a role reversal AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:15:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3401393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notraelet/pseuds/notraelet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His skin is pallid, stretched over thin, dark veins. So different from the man that Samson knew in Kirkwall, the virtuous, upstanding leader who the others followed without question.  He remembers determination, a righteous anger, someone morally opposed to the horrors that happened there </i>
</p><p>
  <i>What he finds now in its place is just... this.</i>
</p><p>When Cullen and his host of red templars are captured, Samson has to figure out if his life is worth saving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You wanted to see me?"

The Inquisitor closes the door behind her gently, the wood scraping against the stone floors. Despite her short stature, Lady Cadash carries a large presence, one that her Commander feels without having to look up. She isn't pleased, but he knew she wouldn't be. She's too busy to come and go at the beck and call of her followers, there's too much at stake for the sort of consideration he's asking for.

But Samson tries.

"...you brought back the general of the red templars after your visit to the Wilds, did you not?"

Her head tilts slightly as Cadash immediately realizes what this is about. Years of working for the Carta has schooled her in how to keep her thoughts from showing in her expression, and Samson dislikes how it makes her impossible to read.

"I did. Your assistance in the matter was key, Samson. I'm sure you've read the reports- we captured a number of red templars alive, including their general. Some did not survive the trip, and the rest are in the holdings below Skyhold."

"But you're going to pass judgement on them."

"Should I not?"

She could pierce him with that gaze but Samson doesn't relent under it. He'd spent enough time with Meredith and Cassandra to be cowed by severity. His fingers tighten slightly against the wood of the desk he's leaning on, and Cadash glances down for a moment at the sound that it makes, but otherwise doesn't comment.

"You know what I'm asking, Inquisitor."

"Then say it." Short, concise, and for all that Samson follows her and believes that she will lead them to a better world, he hates her in that moment.

" _Leniency_." The word is gritted out between his teeth. "He can help us against Corypheus. They all can. If you kill him here-"

"- you haven't seen him yet, have you?"

The question takes him by surprise, and Samson shakes his head once. Cadash hesitates a moment before shaking her head, folding her arms across her chest. It makes her look childish somehow, but Samson has learned by now never to underestimate the Inquisitor just because of her stature. She's far fiercer than her size would imply, and she carries all of the natural stubbornness and brutality of her people. Usually, Samson gets along with her easier than some of the others- they tend to agree on swift, decisive action for their opposition. Still, in the rare event that they disagree with one another, he finds her attitude grating.

"He isn't the man you knew. None of them are. They've forsaken their vows-"

"They were _templars_ -"

"- and they've killed hundreds of innocents. If I allow them to live- "

Samson growls at that, slamming a fist down against the desk. The Inquisitor, not quite expecting such a violent reaction, falls silent, her jaw set tight. His heart is racing, anger boiling under his skin.

"The Chantry abandoned their templars. Abandoned _him_. They abandoned me too, and if Cassandra hadn't taken me from Kirkwall, it'd be _me_ in that cell. Those were _good_ men and women that they left to rot- and if we don't offer them another way, then we're no better than the people who forced the red on them to begin with."

Silence. The Inquisitor is quiet after Samson finishes, and he knows without a doubt that he's overstepped his bounds. How could he challenge her judgement? To ask redemption on the men who have slaughtered innocent people? He's read the reports, he knows how the General and his men had carved a red path through Orlais. It's absurd to even think that men like that can be forgiven, that their corruption can somehow be undone.

There are quiet footsteps then, light as Lady Cadash crosses the floor toward him. She braces herself on the desk opposite him, and Samson can't help but note how her thumb brushes up against the small box resting inconspicuously at the corner of his desk. Her head tilts upward so she can meet his eyes, expression focused, serious.

Gently, quietly, she asks: "...is this about the lyrium?"

There's a pause, one that weighs heavily on the room. Samson turns his gaze away from her then, his shoulders caving slightly, the aggressive stance forgotten. He doesn't respond.

She probably hadn't expected him to.

_

The armor burned to wear, like being on fire. He'd screamed, fallen to his knees as the red forced its way through him, puncturing him with tendrils of flame. He had endured. His master had seen to that. He had endured and he stood up, shaking like a newborn calf.

He had learned to walk in the fire. He had learned to lift a sword. He had fought, lead his armies, pushed through everything for his rebirth.

And then- then they took it from him. It was stripped from his arms, his legs, his chest, piece by burning piece and in the rush of air that pushed its way over him, he knew fire again. It shouldn't have burned, but it did, it left him feeling raw, scrubbed, used. What could he do in the face of it? How could he endure this again without his master?

The chains binding his arms are the only thing keeping him from ripping at his own skin to be rid of the feeling. And _Maker_ , he would bash his head against the wall of his cell and be done with it if he had the strength to stand.

"The Inquisitor has delayed your judgement," comes the crisp voice of the prison guard. She looks down toward him with an odd mixture of pity and disdain in her eyes. He grits his teeth and says nothing, curling a little tighter where he's sitting with his back against the opposite wall.

"For fuck's sake, what's that going to do?"

He recognizes that voice. It's one of his templars, one of the few who survived the trip. Keran hadn't taken as much of the lyrium as the others, which ultimately had saved his life. The trip from the Wilds had been long, and those who were used to a higher dose had gone mad, broken, and collapsed dead on the road from being denied the drug they so needed.

But Keran, Keran had lived. For all the good it did him.

"Shut your mouth, traitor. I'm not talking to you."

He could hear his subordinate stand, haughty, wedge his shoulder against the bars.

"Delaying the judgement only means that more of us are going to die before your _Herald_ decides to execute us. We're all dead men already- at least tell her to have the decency to make it quick."

The guard snarls, a hand resting on her sword. She continues to glare until Keran backs down, sullen as he pulls away from the bars. There's a long pause, before the woman turns on her heel and leaves the corridor, no doubt returning to the hall where she usually stays during her shifts. The crystals make her uncomfortable, she doesn't like to look unless she has to.

At least one of them gets that choice.

He can hear Keran back up against the wall of his own cell, just on the other side. The man leans, slides, and there's a grating sound of crystal on stone before he finally hits the floor with a soft scrape.

There's silence, for a long time. And then, finally-

"...General? General, can you hear me?"

It's soft, too soft for the guard to hear- enough for the prisoners, maybe, and there's a shifting sound as some of the others lean against their cells in an attempt to hear the conversation at hand. He takes a deep breath and doesn't respond.

"General- sir- please. Tell me you're still there. You can't die before the rest of us, we need you." Silence. Keran grits his teeth and, frustrated, bumps his head back against the wall.

" _Cullen_ , come on."

He can barely move, but Cullen opens his eyes at his name. Air rasps into his lungs, his fingers pull into a weak fist. Stupid, broken templars, walking in fire. At least it will be over soon.

"...I'm here."

_

She said that he had to see with his own eyes. So Samson goes, dressed in full armor, holding himself as high as he can. These were men and women that he served with, people he had grown to trust- all twisted and corrupted by the tainted lyrium.

No- twisted and corrupted by the _Chantry_. The lyrium was just the only option they had after that. He had to remember who was truly at fault.

He doesn't look at the guard when he passes her, ignores her hurried salute. The cells are less full than he'd thought- hadn't they captured more templars than this? Five of them were occupied- two men and two women, with all of them either looking asleep or close enough to death's door that it doesn't particularly matter. In the last cell, though...

There he is. Samson can see him now, sitting blankly in his cell, waiting for what he can only assume is death. Red lyrium had not been kind to him, but while the others had spurted actual crystals from their skin, Cullen remained himself. Or- well, as himself as he could have, Samson supposes.

His skin is pallid, stretched over thin, red veins. He's lost weight, and each breath he takes looks like a struggle just to lift his ribs enough to allow him to continue living. So different from the man that Samson knew in Kirkwall, the virtuous, upstanding leader who the others followed without question. He remembers determination, a righteous anger, someone morally opposed to the horrors that happened there.

What he finds now in its place is just... this

 _It's the withdrawal_ , he tells himself. _It's been days- probably a week or more since he last dosed_. Samson can comfort himself with that all he likes, but he knows the truth: Cullen is a dead man. If the Inquisitor stays her hand, the withdrawal will kill him, sure as anything. If he's somehow allowed to sustain himself on the red, that'll kill him to. There's no way out for him.

"Come to gloat?" The prisoner finally asks him, his voice hoarse. Cullen shifts slightly so he can sit up a little higher against the wall, but that's _all_ he can really bring himself to do.

Samson watches him with hooded eyes.

"Came to see what became of Knight Commander Cullen."

The thing manages a weak laugh, pressing his hands against the floor and heaving himself up further on the wall. Speaking takes a little time, but he still has enough of his mind left to talk with him, for which Samson is morbidly thankful.

"If you'd stayed when that Seeker came calling, you'd be right here with me."

"I asked you to come. _She_ asked you-"

"-and leave them?" Cullen wheezes, his head lolling against the stone in a way that could probably be construed as shaking _no_. "They needed me."

"Is this what they needed?" His voice is less heated now, and Samson drops to one knee on the other side of the bars so he can see him better, look at him eye to eye. Cullen was wrecked, and Samson steeled himself and told him that it was no one's fault but his own. "The ones that won't die quickly will die slowly. _You_ lead them to this."

Cullen tilts his head, his bloodshot eyes unfocused, trying to center on Samson after the movement.

"You _left_ them to this."

Lucid or not, the words cut deep and Samson grits his teeth, one of his hands wrapping around the bars. Anger comes easier to him than patience or peace, but he wills it away.

"I wasn't in command. You were."

"And what was I supposed to do? I..." Cullen trails off there, his voice slurring a little. For a moment, Samson is concerned that the other man had passed out, but his eyes are open, glassy with confusion. His brows furrow, his fingers tighten. "...Sam?"

"What?" Cold dread claws its way into his belly as he watches Cullen turn to move, as if getting up. The motion only makes him fall from where he'd been carefully sitting, and his shoulder hits the floor with a rush of breath that sounds as if all the air had been knocked out of him. Samson forces himself not to react. Cullen doesn't look back at him. In the span of a moment, he's lost, and Samson forces himself to stay and listen.

"Tell Meredith that I'll do it. Whatever she wants. Tell Meredith- tell her to bring the lyrium and I'll do it. I will. I'll be better."

Samson takes a deep breath and looks away. He knows, more than anyone, the ache that lyrium leaves you with, the hole that it burns in the back of your throat. He'd slept in the gutters for weeks for it, let hunger leave him hollow and shaking so that he could use his coin for a pinch more of the dust.

He felt the clutches of madness on the streets in Kirkwall. He would give anything to never have to feel that again.

In a moment, Samson makes a decision- something that could damn him, but Andraste's ass, he doesn't fucking care.

"...I brought it, Cullen."

"Mm?"

During his moments of inflection, Cullen had dozed off, fingers twitching uselessly against the ground. The voice had roused him slightly, and the former general slid his cheek along the grime of the floor to try and find the source of it.

As he reaches into the folds of his coat, Samson thinks that he hates himself more than he hates Cullen. Neither of those things stops him from pulling out a small vial and reaching very gingerly between the bars to set it on the stone inside of Cullen's cell with a soft _tap_.

"For you."

Cullen's eyes snap open and he rolls to his stomach. His arms are bound in front of him, and he uses his elbows to push himself up with a pained exhale. He tries to move forward, and if the situation wasn't so fucking _heartbreaking_ , Samson might have thought it comical.

He's seen the way that lyrium is held over the templars' heads, like meat for a starving dog. He never wants to be the sort of person to take pleasure in watching another man crawling for his addiction, and so he reaches through the bars and grabs at Cullen's collar when it's close enough, wrenching the fabric up. He receives a whine in turn, but ignores it, using his other hand to grab at the vial.

Once he has Cullen suitably on his knees on the other side of the bars, he uncorks the lyrium with his teeth, bringing it closer and narrowly avoiding overturning the whole thing when Cullen lunges at it, hitting his head against the bars.

"Easy. Easy. Settle down."

Cullen goes still at that, his movements still very much like a feral beast, unsure whether to bite the hand or let itself be fed. His eyes follow Samson's every movement, clear and _needing_ , so unlike they were just a few moments ago. He can smell the coldness of the liquid now, and Samson lets his hand that was previously clutching at Cullen's shirt move to tangle in the matted hair at the back of his head, steadying him.

The Commander tips the vial into Cullen's mouth, finding himself looking away as the other man drinks it down. It's over in a moment, crime committed, with no one around him the wiser.

Samson lets go of Cullen's head, lets the other man fall back against the floor of his cell as he shoves the empty vial away, pushing himself to stand. He's certain that he's just done the wrong thing, but to what end?

The guard looks at him curiously as he leaves, but she doesn't say anything. Samson doesn't know if she saw him and he doesn't care. What could he be accused of? Letting the general live long enough to stand trial? This visit had left him far more confused, more angry and knotted up inside than he cares to admit. 

Cullen had tried to salvage what the Chantry threw away. For that, he'd damned them all.

In his place, Samson is sure that he would have done the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick backstory for this AU:  
> -DA:2 happened as usual  
> -Cassandra asked Cullen to go with her, but he refused, since that would leave the templars in Kirkwall without a leader  
> -Samson went in his stead, became a Captain under her, and was quickly promoted to Commander after the battle of Haven
> 
> Everything else is basically true to canon.
> 
> Anyway! I saw a few role reversal fanarts on tumblr and was surprised to see that it hasn't been written here yet. So I'm writing stuff, yay! I have some plans for the future and the next chapter mostly written, so hopefully I can keep chipping away at it while I pray that it doesn't become a monster of a fic.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor leaves on urgent business, Cullen's men get worse, and Leliana comes up with a plan.

It feels worse, actually.

Cullen thinks about it when he lies on the floor of his cell- on his back this time, staring up toward the wooden beams keeping the ceiling upright. This morning, they had come and removed Moira's corpse from her cell, leaving four red templars left. Keran occasionally asked him if he was still alive through the walls of the prison, to which he'd let out some sort of noncommittal sound or another. Everyone knew the truth though, as much as they clung to life. Death is inevitable, now. It's just a matter of when.

Except-

Except he can feel the coolness of the lyrium Samson had given him. It's not the same as the Red, not as _sweet_ as the Red, but it brings lucidity, and some form of detachment. He doesn't know why Samson gave it to him, but he knows that if he doesn't get another dose in the next day or two then he'll probably be right back where he started.

Which is a ridiculous thing to consider, really. Why should he care about withdrawals when the Inquisitor is just going to behead them all anyway? That is, unless she's just waiting for them to waste away and die without judgement.

He doesn't think she is. He doesn't think that she's the kind of person to do that, but then again, he doesn't know her personally. He knows Cassandra- but however brief their meetings were in Kirkwall, Cullen doesn't think that she would let the prisoners die from lyrium withdrawal.

Or maybe she would.

Rather than agitating and burning through him, the blue lyrium had given him calm, allowed him to reflect on the situation- which, in the end, is a rather shitty one. He almost wishes that he hadn't been given it at all. It was easier to sit in a cell half-dead and twisting in agony than it is to lay in it and think of the worst.

Moira is dead. He lead her to this, he let her die alone in a prison cell, and for what?

"What are you- " the guard's surprised tone snaps Cullen out of his reverie and he turns his head a little against the floor, looking out from between the bars of his cell.

"Lyrium. I have orders."

It's a man dressed in a robe, but Cullen can't see more of him quite yet. Still, the voice sounds familiar, too familiar to really be comfortable, and there's a name on the tip of his tongue, but Cullen can't quite remember it. More important was the bag hanging off of the man's shoulder- a bag which moved with the telltale _clinks_ of glass bottles. 

Cullen moves to sit up, and he can hear three others sitting up in interest along with him. The man has the attention of every red templar in the prison now, and he's well aware of that fact.

The guard glances back at them- Keran is already pressed against the bars like he can somehow break through to reach the bag. She looks uneasy as she shifts in her stance, before turning her attention back to the messenger.

"You were sent to give it to them?"

"We were told that one of them died." That _voice_. Cullen strains his neck trying to look, but with the way his cell is angled, he'd have to move closer to the bars to get a good view, and he's pretty sure that whoever it is will come into his line of sight soon enough. "I have orders in writing here, if you would like to see them."

The guard shakes her head, moving back toward the hall. "...no, that's alright. Go ahead, just- be quick."

The others hustled forward to the bars as the man moved in. Cullen, by contrast, merely sits up curiously, watching him slowly move to the first cell.

It's not like how Samson did it. Cullen can barely remember the strong hands pushing at the back of his head, and he can't remember what Samson said to him, but he remembers the tone of it, the feeling. Harsh and rough and yet somehow gentle. Personal. This man, by contrast, merely places the small vial where their meals are normally brought to them, on the floor of the cell, just inside the bars.

Not that many of the bottles stay there for longer than a few seconds. There are desperate cries as each one is snatched up in turn, and Cullen can hear fingers scrabbling at the stoppers.

The man lingers in front of his cell. Cullen looks up toward him finally, curious as to what the holdup might be.

And stops cold.

"Maddox."

The man inclines his head in acknowledgement, and Cullen damn near kicks himself. How had he not identified that voice? The lack of inflection, the monotone of it- of course it belonged to a Tranquil. Of _course_ that Tranquil was Maddox.

"Cullen."

That means that Samson has kept him- all this time, kept him close, kept him alive. Despite the attacks, despite everything else, he's alive. Cullen stares at him, disbelief in his eyes. At one point, there would have been pity welling up, maybe even guilt buried in his heart at seeing him, but now all he can muster is shock and a strange sense of kinship toward the Commander who had kept this Tranquil here.

It's only one man. Samson left the rest of them, Cullen reminds himself, but-

-this is no time for thinking this over. No time to consider Samson's humanity, in light of all the things he's done to betray the other men in this room.

He wets his lips then, responding with a roughness that he doesn't really feel. "That would be me. What's the reason for giving this to us?"

The Tranquil tips his head and looks at the vial in his hand, before lifting his gaze back to Cullen. Like this, the red templar can _feel_ the pull of the lyrium, how it fishhooks into his spine and settles the need deep into his bones, but he's strong enough to not give in quite yet. The previous dose had helped.

"I was asked to," is all the Tranquil returns, and Cullen sighs in slight frustration.

He's not going to tell him what Samson did if he doesn't already know. Cullen is getting the impression that such an act was not necessarily condoned, and if he can even begin to expect more kindness in the future, he needs to keep his mouth shut about what already happened. He doesn't know how close Maddox and Samson are, and he knows that Tranquil are notoriously bad at keeping secrets. The less he says here, the better.

"Why were you asked to? I don't recall lyrium being cheap." Of course, Samson may have thought the same, may have told Maddox little of his plans as well. Cullen is well aware how circular conversations with Tranquil can become, and he doesn't intend to be pulled into the tedious affair of trying to ask him questions that he doesn't know the answer to.

"I did not ask. Are you refusing treatment?"

"Come on, Maddox. If he intends to torture us for information, withdrawals are a perfect weapon for that. If he intends to kill us, there's no sense wasting this on us. There has to be a _reason_. Do you really not know?"

It points toward something that he almost doesn't want to hope for: survival. For him, for his men- even Keran had fallen silent after taking the lyrium, and Cullen was suddenly aware of the fact that everyone in the prison was listening to the conversation.

"I do not. Commander Samson told me to come administer doses of lyrium, and so I came."

A confirmation of who gave the order, at least. Samson again. Not surprising, considering Maddox. Still, he has to wonder what the Inquisitor's hand in all of this is. Why has only Samson dealt with them so far? Cullen considers that for a moment, finally taking the lyrium from Maddox's hand.

"Thank you, then."

"Goodbye, Cullen. Keran." Maddox inclines his head slightly, before taking his leave, brushing absently past the guard, who had been watching the whole thing with a furrowed brow. Cullen doesn't care what she thinks. He resists the urge to immediately drink the lyrium, instead tucking it away. 

If nothing else, then he's sure he'll need it later.  
_

"So I was supposed to let them die, is that it?"

Samson rounds on Cassandra this time, fury in his voice. Since the Inquisitor's return, it had been nothing but reports and accusations. And it's just as well, really- who gets to leave with nothing more than a few hasty orders, and who has to deal with the fact that their prisoners are dying under their noses?

The Seeker holds firm, her gaze cold and hard. Similarly, the Inquisitor is glaring at him, no doubt taking this as some kind of strange need to defy her orders after their last conversation.

"You were _supposed_ to do what you were ordered to," is what Cassandra eventually says, though he can see that there's conflict in her eyes. "Giving the Red Templars lyrium was _not_ your call to make."

"One of them has died already in our holdings. The rest died on the road with you. If we withhold any more, there will be none of them left!"

Silence. The women continue to glare at him, and Samson's lip curls angrily.

"Unless that was the point, is it? You can ignore them in their cells until they're corpses? Why not just kill them and end their suffering? Maker knows, they've been through enough al-"

" _Quiet_."

Lady Cadash's voice is heavy, demanding respect. Samson turns back toward her, his shoulders set. He's said his piece, and he's prepared to face any sort of rebuttal from her. What he did was questionable- but not wrong. How would it have been responsible of him to let her prisoners die while she was off on 'urgent business'? It was important that they stay alive to face judgement, whenever lady Cadash prepared a court to dispense it.

She's not pleased with him, but he can already see that Cassandra doesn't quite know what to think. She's always been headstrong, questioning leadership when she felt like her beliefs were compromised. Are they compromised now? Does she agree with him?

He doesn't have time to hear her out though, because another voice comes from behind him- softer, with an Orlesian lilt.

"...I think that _some_ good can come of this, surely."

Leliana smiles in that secret way of hers as she steps out from the doorway, her arms folded across her stomach. The Inquisitor's posture loses a little of its aggression, and her spymaster continues.

"We don't know what Corypheus is planning next, but I'm sure that Cullen does. I met him once, in Kinloch Hold. He was tortured, but he did not break. If he is the same man I knew, then he will not break now. Not even through withdrawal."

Lady Cadash looks intrigued, and she takes a small step forward. "And his men?"

"Oh, I don't think they know anything at all." Leliana laughs softly, shaking her head. "But keeping what remains of them alive will endear Cullen to us. I've read his letters you gathered in Emprise du Lion and he has no desire to love Corypheus. I think," she offers a knowing little smile to Samson. It's more unnerving than reassuring. "I think our red templar general can be turned."

It's Cassandra who speaks first.

" _Turned_?"

"You told me once that Cullen was your first choice to come lead our soldiers." Samson looks away at that, sullen. Heedless, Leliana continues. "Did he not stay for his own men? From the reports, it seems like his motivation in this war are the templars under his command. He followed Corypheus because he did not believe there was another way. What if we show him one?"

The Inquisitor frowns, not entirely on board with the idea. Samson can see why- it seems a fool's gambit at best. If they can't gain his trust, if he feeds them false information... Leliana claimed to know Cullen once, ten years ago. Samson himself knew him in Kirkwall, but after all that's been done to him, can she really suggest that he's the same man?

He sacrificed his men, after all- turned some of them into lyrium pillars. So what if his letters suggested that they were given enough medicine to ensure that they didn't feel pain? They still _died_. How could any of them trust a man like that to care enough for his men to be coerced into giving up his master's battle plans?

"No. I'm not offering him a chance at redemption," Cadash finally states, her lips pressed in a thin line. "He's done enough to my men- to Haven. I won't grant him forgiveness."

"Inquisitor," Leliana says, and _there_ it is, Samson thinks. The left hand of the Divine, finally showing her cards. Her voice is hushed, but her mouth is quirked into a smile, like she's sharing a particularly amusing secret. "I never said anything about forgiveness. We will _use_ him. The red lyrium will kill him soon enough. I just believe that we can glean a few secrets from him before that happens."

The silence that follows her feels deafening. Samson doesn't let his unease at the idea show. The ruthlessness of her plan would be impressive, if he didn't sympathize with Cullen as he did. Some part of him thinks that the Spymaster knows that too, with the way that she had looked at him earlier.

Maker's balls, this is getting to be too much.

Samson glances toward the others, still not comfortable with what Leliana is proposing. He can see that it unsettles Cassandra as well, but the Inquisitor seems contemplative. It's difficult to know what she's thinking.

Finally, Lady Cadash lets out a sigh, her mind made as she refocuses, looking up to address them all.

"I had hoped for a little respite after my return, but it seems that this matter is too important to be put off for any longer. Inform Josephine to prepare the court. I will judge Cullen and his men tomorrow."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judgement to come in the next chapter... which I may have already written because this AU has ruined me. 
> 
> Anyway, tell me what you think! I'd love to snap up some feedback. I'm pretty sure I know which direction that I want this to go in, but any suggestions would be loved.


	3. Chapter 3

The main hall of Skyhold can house several hundred people, if pressed. Samson has never seen more than three dozen or so in it at any given time, but when they drag the red templar general out in chains, there are more there than he had ever seen before, all of whom have their eyes on the proceedings. One of the more daring of the nobles spits at him, and Cullen flinches away from it, causing a soft murmur of laughter to ripple through the crowd.

The wolf of Skyhold burns with anger, but at the Inquisitor's side, he can do nothing. He commits the man's face to memory as Cullen is wrenched onward and past him, the chains around his arms thick and heavy and not really allowing for him to lift them at all, in the state he's in.

Josephine gives him a nod and Samson steps forward.

"I will oversee this judgement," he murmurs, glancing to the Inquisitor for a moment before returning his gaze toward Cullen. "Seeing as to how I had a hand in bringing the bastard in."

Cullen looks up at him then, surprise painting over his features for a split second before his face falls again and he nods, looking back down toward the floor. The Inquisitor doesn't acknowledge Samson's words, merely watches the prisoner as Samson clears his throat, turning back toward her.

"This is former Knight Commander Cullen Rutherford, general to Corypheus... as I'm sure you know. He is a traitor to the Templar Order, and the crimes he's committed against the Inquisition and his fellow templars number too great to list here today. Many would see him die for what he's done."

And there it is. Cullen's head sinks just slightly and Samson tightens his fingers into a fist. He knows that what he's saying is the truth- that Cullen deserves death, that he's betrayed every vow he's ever taken, but a part of him can still find empathy for him. The Chantry, the Seekers- even the Inquisition could never be bothered to put the needs of the templars first. They had always been tools.

Samson has known this since Kirkwall, accepted it, branded it into his mind. _Never forget what you are. Never forget what they would do to you, if given half the chance._

Cullen, on the other hand, had burned with idealism. Too much of it. The revelation after Kirkwall, that templars were there to be _used_... it had broken him, ripped through him until the man that Samson once knew was gone.

"I am to to inform you that both Guard Captain Aveline in Kirkwall and Empress Celene request his head, should you part it from his shoulders. From what I hear, Celene has a few ideas with how it could be put to use." There's a pause, and then Samson sighs, looking back toward the former general. Leliana had approached him before, smiled at him and whispered the words in his ear. Saying them now feels like someone else speaking, and though he schools his expression to be impassive, it feels as if he's just swallowed something vile. 

"...but I would personally ask that you stay your hand and keep him here, in Skyhold." Cullen looks up at that- only slightly, but Samson can see the spark of hope there before he can hide it. It churns something in his chest, but he continues regardless. He has a job to do. "I've known this man for years in Kirkwall. He is not a monster; simply a man whose greatest crime was refusing to believe that there was another way. I think that he can be an asset to us, if we allow him to live."

Lady Cadash considers it. Samson can see her thoughts as they come. In a cursory glance over the hall, he can see some of the others as well- Blackwall sulking along the back wall, Vivienne leaning over the railing of her balcony, watching the proceedings.

Varric is watching too, but Samson finds that the dwarf's gaze is on him, rather than the Inquisitor. He meets it with a short nod and is surprised to find that the gesture is not returned. Slowly, Varric turns away from him, casting his gaze back toward the Herald currently seated on her throne. Hm.

"Thank you, Commander," Cadash says, leaning forward in her seat to address Cullen directly.

"These are harsh charges leveled against you. The stone only knows that offering your corpse to Celene or any of the others would only strengthen the bond of our alliance. Several people requested it as a _personal_ favor and, as my ambassador tells me, it is very rude to refuse a personal favor to royalty."

There's a murmur in the hall. Cadash silences it by raising a single hand, and she leans forward in her throne, staring sharply toward the man in chains.

"Tell me, Cullen: do my Commander's words have merit? Could you be an asset to us?" There's a pause, and for a moment, Samson thinks that it's all she'll say, but she continues, her voice darkening slightly. "And while you're at it, tell me why you think you deserve to keep your head on your shoulders, after all you've done."

Those last few words seemed to have finally sparked life in the general, and he steps forward. The movement takes him slightly too close to the Inquisitor for comfort, and the soldiers behind him grip at his chains, wrenching them back and Cullen very narrowly avoids being jerked off of his feet. 

Fine, then. He draws himself a little more upright, back still bowed slightly with the weight of the chains. His voice is shaky, but stronger than it was when Samson had visited him. The lyrium is helping.

" _All I've done_ , Inquisitor, was to try and save the men that were abandoned. I- I gave them something to _live_ for!" His voice softens slightly and he looks away. "...I gave them something to hope for. A cause to die for- for _something_ , rather than just wasting away to madness."

"You _killed_ hundreds- thousands of innocents. How can you justify that for glory?"

Cullen's fingers tighten and he looks back up toward the Inquisitor, his jaw clenched tight.

"I did what I had to do. Do you think any of the templars who serve you would have stayed honorable without lyrium? Commander Samson-" he turns to face Samson now, again advancing a little too far and being jerked back by the guards with the chains. It takes him a moment to collect himself, but when he looks up, Samson can see the fire in his eyes. "-tell me honestly: if you were in my stead, would you have let your men fall to madness? Would you have let them roll over and die like dogs, after years of service?"

Samson's eyes grow slightly wide, and his eyes cut over to where he knows Leliana usually stands- but she isn't there. He opens his mouth to refute the claim (it's would be a lie, he'd be _lying_ and they both know it, every one in the fucking hall knows it), but before he can get two words out, the Inquisitor interrupts him.

"This isn't about my Commander. It's about _you_. Answer my first question."

There's a silence then as Cullen sags again, deflated. He's considering it carefully, Samson knows this- and with a mind cleared by lyrium, thanks to him. It seems to stretch for longer than it should, the silence, and Cullen takes a deep breath, before looking back up to the throne.

He doesn't seem as confident as he did when he was talking about his motivations, but maybe that's just Samson projecting onto him. "...there are two men and a woman under my command still in your prison. They may not have long, and so if you- if the Inquisition sees to it that they are cared for, given elfroot and lyrium, then I... I will help you."

There's a ripple of surprise that goes through the crowd, but Samson and the Inquisitor aren't surprised. It's just what Leliana told them he'd do, and despite all of the atrocities that Cullen had committed, Samson believed him when he said that he did it for his templars.

The response from the Inquisitor doesn't come immediately, however. Samson looks back at her to find the dwarf in cold contemplation as she stares toward the prisoner and suddenly realizes that this nothing is guaranteed. She could choose to disregard Leliana's advice and kill him anyway- as much as Josephine typically advocates for peaceful solutions, Samson knows that the ambassador would prefer to strengthen an alliance with the general's head.

How much did they need Cullen's knowledge? They have Corypheus by the balls now, Samson thinks, it's just a matter of knowing where he'll strike to completely minimize casualties. Is that important enough to let the political advantage go?

Samson's eyes shift from the Inquisitor back to Cullen, and then back to the dwarf again. He doesn't know what she'll say- they hadn't really discussed what they would do after the judgement. Still, Lady Cadash finally moves to stand, and every seated attendee of the court rises with her as she turns her gaze once more toward Cullen.

"Your crimes are too grievous to forgive. For what you've done to the people across Orlais and Ferelden, and what you've done to the men in your command, you deserve death." Samson grits his teeth, his fingers tightening as Cadash continues. "...however. I will honor your agreement, providing that you prove yourself useful to the Inquisition. You and your men will be henceforth placed under Commander Samson, to do with as he sees fit."

-what?

Samson turns toward her, opening his mouth to speak out, but he's silenced with a single look. Cullen, likewise, tilts his head confused but knows better than to say anything as he watches Samson's reaction. No. No, he has _too_ much to deal with, too much on his plate without having to babysit Cullen and his men. It's a liability, and he doesn't want to take that responsibility, doesn't want to have to watch these men die.

He'd served with Cullen once. Slept in the same quarters as him. Even idolized him, for a time. What the Inquisitor is asking...

The Inquisitor catches his eye and nods, the look she gives him full of meaning. This is part of the plan. Go along with it, take Cullen, make him trust you. Fuck, it makes Samson sick, and he looks back toward the general, forcing his expression to remain harsh, still.

"You and your men will be moved to quarters. You will all be assigned guards, every moment of the day. I will summon you when I have need for you. Dismissed."

The guards tug at Cullen's chains and he staggers backwards, but doesn't quite turn yet and instead looks up toward him. The former Knight-Commander's expression is unreadable, but there's something vulnerable about it, a surprise, a hope that he can't quite bury. Samson doesn't know what he's hoping for- regardless of what just happened here, Cullen has no future, and they intend to wring him of every secret he has before leaving him to die.

It's justice, he tells himself. Cullen is beyond saving.

As the others begin to file out of the great hall, Samson wonders if he truly believes that.

_

"Man, this blue stuff is shit." 

Ruvena wrinkles her nose a little, her arms folded as she leans in the threshold of his new room, which rests at the front of the quarters that has been supplied to them. Cullen looks up toward her from where he's standing near his threadbare cot, noting the two guards positioned behind her.

None of the red templars are wearing armor, and Maker forbid they have access to weapons. The crystals growing from their skin are bad enough, but the ones who survived don't have them as widespread as the majority of the others. It's subtle enough that they're still able to wear the clothes that were provided to them, which are a sight better than the sweat drenched, muddy padded clothing that they had after their armor was removed.

The air still burns on his skin, but after being able to bathe for the first time in weeks, after putting on clean clothing and taking his third dose of blue lyrium, Cullen is starting to feel human again. His head is clearing nicely, and as promised by the Inquisitor, he and his men are being taken care of.

He's himself enough that the complaint actually pulls a thin smile from him, and Cullen shakes his head, standing as he begins to arrange the blankets on his cot. "Would you rather go without? I doubt the Inquisition would give us red."

"Void, no. I just forgot what it was like."

She moves into his room then, and the door is kept open behind her. One of the guards follows her in the room, but thankfully stays stationed by the door, watching them carefully for any exchange of information that might not be monitored. Cullen had expected it, and so he turns his attention toward his subordinate as he tucks the last of the thin blankets under the mat of his bed.

"I'm surprised they're giving us any at all," he admits. Why would they? Sure, they want him to have a clear head for when he's supposed to be assisting them, but giving former templars lyrium could be dangerous. If given enough, they could use their abilities- channel them to knock back the guards, try to overwhelm them. Even without weapons, the lyrium makes them dangerous.

Ruvena doesn't seem to share in his thoughts, and shrugs. "It's Samson again, I bet. Probably making sure the Herald stays true to her word."

The thought had crossed Cullen's mind once or twice. Samson _had_ , after all, sent Maddox to give them lyrium in the cell- and again, the Tranquil had visited them shortly after they were seen to their new quarters. But he didn't know if it was the Inquisitor's doing, or if the Commander was truly vouching for him. Does it matter?

He simply scoffs then, shaking his head. "We're more useful to them alive. _I'm_ more useful to them when I'm not half-mad from withdrawal. Trust me, lieutenant, it's not a mercy."

Ruvena is quiet for a moment, watching as Cullen finishes up making his bed and then turns to sit on it. Finally though, she speaks.

"...they told me what happened at the judgement. What you said." Cullen tilts his head toward her, and Ruvena manages a small smile, reaching a hand out to touch his shoulder. The guard at the door shifts a little uneasily, but otherwise he ignores the contact for now. "You made them promise to take care of us, or you wouldn't help them. You didn't have to. You could have just saved yourself."

There's a pause, before she continues.

"I'm glad that they kept their word, but- more than anything, I'm glad that you were the man I followed, back in Kirkwall. I just wanted to tell you that."

The touch on his shoulder brings a warmth that Cullen hadn't anticipated, and he looks up at her, lost for words. Ruvena apparently doesn't need a response, and she pulls away, turning to leave. The guard follows her out, leaving Cullen alone in his new quarters, his fingers brushing slightly over the spot on his shoulder that she had touched.

He can't forget this. This is what he'd been fighting for, the whole time. This is what he chose. As the door creaks to a close, Cullen steels himself, his fingers tightening in the loose fabric of his shirt. Whatever he does now, he does for them. He has to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And judgement! I swear that Sammy and Cullen will actually meet face to face one of these days...
> 
> I've been trying to write this while keeping their original personalities in mind, so Samson is much more crass and aggressive than Cullen was in his place, and Cullen is a bit calmer than red templar!Sam, but still something of a monster. Hopefully I've been negotiating the balance alright >> I'm about halfway through the next chapter, so expect more soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a gendered slur. Samson is a dick.

Samson rests his hands along the edge of the war table, brow furrowed and contemplating the various metal pieces scattered about it. Leliana is to his right, Josephine just beyond her, and the Inquisitor and the witch are watching from the other side. They've been in this room for what feels like hours already, and they're still getting nowhere. Frustration is starting to bubble up inside of him again, but Samson tries to keep a lid on it. After all, the last time he lost his temper at the Inquisitor, he wound up with a red templar general under his command.

Still, it's not easy, and as he looks over the pieces, he tries to figure out _what_ they could be missing. Corypheus had not taken the loss of his general lightly- Venatori are now striking from everywhere, even areas that Samson had _thought_ that the Inquisition previously cleared out. Red templars are scattered amongst them, striking in quick, decisive movements before melting back into the shadows. Not enough to ruin them, but enough to be _annoying_ at best, crippling their smaller forces at worst.

Do they want him back? Samson hadn't thought that Corypheus would be the type to strike out in revenge, especially after Cullen had failed to become his so-called 'vessel'. He doubts that Corypheus would risk an attack on Skyhold to reclaim his general, but what else could these quick strikes be about?

The worst of it all is that they have no idea where the men are hiding or where the attacks are coming from, even after consolidating their efforts.

"No- it wouldn't be there, Leliana's men searched the area already. I doubt the Freemen are hiding them."

"Then where would they be? Here?" Leliana shakes her head. "You have a whole platoon camped in Emprise du Lion now, if they're anywhere near the Keep, your men would know."

"No, no, I have received word from the Duke, he said that there has been no sightings of any Venatori or templars on his land."

The witch folds her arms across her exposed chest, lifting her eyes over the table to meet Samson's own. It makes his skin crawl, the way the gold of her gaze seems to pierce through him. He's heard stories of her kind. Is she reading his thoughts now?

Morrigan smiles.

"I think that it is high time that your prisoner made himself useful... don't you, Inquisitor?"

"Do you think he'd know?" Cadash turns toward her, curious. Why she thinks that Morrigan would have the answer is beyond Samson, but he interjects, leaning over the table.

"And let him see the table? If we bring him in here, he'll know where _our_ men are camped out. Is it really worth the risk?"

Leliana isn't so sure. "He knows that his men's lives- and sanity- are at stake if he betrays us. Letting him in here would only mean that we must ensure he never returns to Corypheus' side."

The Herald considers this for a moment, leaning a hip against the table, before she nods. What choice does she have? The five of them are completely baffled on the enemy movements, and if Cullen can help them then they should make use of that opportunity. It's why they kept him alive, after all.

Samson hasn't been to see him since the judgement- that had been almost four days ago. There had been too many things to do, papers to sign off on, men to train, and reports to write. He's heard from the guards that Cullen and his men have been doing well, settling in and making themselves comfortable, if a little bored with their confinement. That's all he needs to know.

He tells himself that he's not avoiding him. That the idea of looking at him, his former commanding officer-turned-prisoner doesn't churn a pit at the bottom of his stomach. The memory of his face, pressed against the prison floor- the weakness of the man who could barely hold himelf upright as Samson fed him lyrium... Samson tells himself that it doesn't effect him, and he can almost believe it.

Which is ultimately what makes him nod, motioning toward the guards near the door.

"Chain his wrists and bring him in."

_

For a moment, when the guard drags Cullen through the door, Samson thinks that there's been a mistake. The man that's being ushered through can't possibly be the one he'd seen a few days before.

Without his armor, the sunlight had reached his skin, darkening the tone to something that might be on the spectrum of healthy. The blue lyrium seemed to strengthen him, make him calmer than he had been with the red. The red templar general is... fuller now, walks with less weakness and his head held high.

His eyes, Samson notes, are still glimmering with red and slightly bloodshot. Something, at least, to remind him of what this man truly is.

The guard deposits Cullen by Samson's side- close enough that if the former general was desperate, he could probably get his arms around Samson's neck, strangle him with the length of chain between his wrists. Samson rests a hand on his sword at the thought, but Cullen does nothing of the sort.

What he _does_ do is look at the table with some interest, though Samson feels uncomfortable letting him see so much. He can see the wheels turning in the other man's mind and he knows without a doubt that Cullen is noting where their men are posted, where Leliana's spies are.

(Upon closer notice, it seems like Leliana has removed a few of her pieces from the table. Of fucking course.)

He's still looking- still _staring_ and so Samson reaches up, closing his gloved hand against the back of Cullen's neck roughly and forcing him down. The former general cries out, stumbling forward slightly, his hands hitting the table as he jerks them up instinctively. Samson stops when the other man's nose is about half a foot off the table and keeps him there, easily overpowering the slight struggles.

Still weak, then. No matter how much better the lyrium might have made him seem.

"That's right, Cullen, take a good look. You know why you're here, don't you?"

The struggling slowly begins to cease as Cullen realizes that it's pointless to try and fight a grip that's stronger than him. Josephine has stepped back, nearly dropping her board in shock, and Leliana simply watches them curiously, as if she's removed from the situation. Morrigan is smiling, Cadash doesn't seem bothered by it at all. None of them move forward to help the former general. None of them tell Samson to stop.

Cullen exhales sharply as Samson finally lets up, but he takes the hint and averts his eyes from the war table then, the chains around his wrists clinking slightly as he takes a small step back.

"...you want Corypheus' movements," he finally says in an answer to Samson's earlier question. His voice is edged, but it's clear that he can do nothing to stop them from doing whatever they need to in order to get the information from him. Samson had just proved that.

"Not just the main army. We want Calpernia as well. Where her Venatori forces are hiding. Every camp you know of."

"I _don't_ know." It's stubborn and an obvious lie, and Samson grits his teeth so he doesn't backhand the little bastard to the floor. Leliana wanted to get information through trust, not through fear, and no matter how much Samson wants to see his former Commander hit the floor for his unwillingness to help, he knows that this needs a gentler touch.

"Cullen." Samson's forces his tone to be a hair softer, and the other man looks up at his name, apprehensive, the wounded-animal look he'd worn in his cell still present in his features.

"These aren't just templars attacking us, they're groups primarily made of Venatori. You- you know what happens if they win, don't you? You know how many people they'll use their blood magic on, how many demons they'll summon to overrun the countryside." The rest of the people in the room stay silent, and Samson doesn't know what the hell he's doing, but he forges on anyway.

"I knew a man in Kirkwall who wouldn't let that stand. Prove that I still know that man."

Maybe it's underhanded, using Cullen's old fears from Kirkwall to try to convince him to help now, but Samson is trying to play this Leliana's way, no matter how dirty it makes him feel. Depriving Cullen of lyrium won't make him talk, and he's fairly certain that the Inquisitor is above the level of torture it would take to unlock what he knows. The only option left is to appeal to his past, his emotions- the person that Samson once knew.

A small part of Samson hopes that he's right, somehow, that Cullen could still be that person... but he shoves it away. It's easier to see Cullen as an enemy than it is a friend who fell down the wrong path. It's easier to try and manipulate him if Samson can only see the harm he's caused, rather than the potential he had.

Cullen's eyes cut toward the Inquisitor, and then Leliana, neither of whom say anything. He's well aware that he's in little position to negotiate here, and Samson can tell that his words have had some weight.

Reluctantly, the former general leans over the table, reaching for the red metal pieces laying next to the map- the pieces that they use to denote enemy movements. His chains drag against the table and he has to lift both hands at once, but he manages, careful not to upset any of the other pieces. The room is silent, two of the women watching with a mute satisfaction, two of them watching with confusion as Cullen leans to place the first piece next to Samson's wolf marker in that damned Oasis, and then a second far to the left of the map in the Hissing Wastes.

In the silence of the room, the soft _clack_ of metal on wood is louder than it should be. Samson shifts, takes a step back to allow Cullen to move, but the other man's face is unreadable.

"...there is a host of Venatori camped in the Hissing Wastes. They're digging for something, but I don't know what it is. They've dug into the canyons though, so your scouts wouldn't see them unless they knew where to look. The men in Oasis-" his expression shifts for a moment, and Samson notes some confusion there. Cullen is choosing his words carefully, but the Commander doesn't know if that means that he's lying or simply being conservative with how much truth he tells.

"Those are Venatori too. Less of them, though. Trying to find a temple of some kind."

"And the red templars? We know that there are forces around Emprise and the Emerald Graves, and-"

Cullen shakes his head, cutting off the Inquisitor's line of questioning with the sharp movement. Samson can catch a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, of pain, and understands immediately why. Those aren't Calpernia's men there, they're his. Cullen would sell out his allies and his master for the red templars that followed him, and so Samson doesn't think that they can really expect much by means of help from him when it comes to dismantling the last of his own men.

The Inquisitor isn't quite as pleased.

"All you've told us are things that our scouts could have said already. Your information isn't valuable." It's a bluff, but none of them say as much. Cullen curls his lip at that, pulling back from the table in a quick movement.

"I don't _care_ if it's valuable or not, it's what I _know_. Go capture Calpernia if you want a better answer."

" _Calpernia_ ," Samson hisses, back by Cullen's side again and grabbing at the man's elbow in warning. Cullen almost loses his footing and his back presses partially against Samson's chest for balance. "-was too good to let herself get caught. You're dismissed, former Knight-Commander."

"What? But he could still tell us-"

Samson snarls, cutting off Josephine's alarmed interjection. The Antivan looks incredulous at that, and he drags Cullen in closer before nodding to the guard at the door to come get him.

"I _said_ , he's dismissed. I'll question him later." The guard steps forward, grabbing at the chains linking his two hands together and pulling him away from the table. Cullen turns back to glare at Samson, who meets his gaze with schooled impassivity. When the door closes behind them, the five of them are quiet for a moment.

Finally though, the Inquisitor speaks up. "We didn't know about the Wastes. If they're digging for something out there, we want to make sure they don't get it. That would also explain why the squads who attack us seem to disappear when they get far enough into the desert. They must have some kind of underground network out there."

Josephine shakes her head with a little sigh.

"But we still don't know where the red templars are coming from. He refuses to give them up."

"For fuck's sake, I thought we were winning this war." Samson pulls away from the table and the women standing around it, moving to stalk toward the window. If he looks at the fucking map any more today, he feels like he's going to lose his mind. Seeing Cullen again had wedged the knot further up in his chest, and Samson is frustrated at his lack of cooperation, frustrated at himself for expecting more, angry even with Leliana for coaxing him into manipulating the man when it would be less difficult just to beat the truth from him.

As if hearing his thoughts, Leliana also steps away from the others, moving silently across the floor and to Samson's side. He can feel the weight of her hand on the shoulder of his armor and the motion makes him turn his head to look back at her, unable to hide his anger. By contrast, she seems calm, taking the negativity in stride.

"We are, Commander. We're trying to minimize casualties."

"And what then?" He turns to look at her fully, his brows furrowing. "When do we go after Corypheus? When do we kill his damned dragon and put an end to this?"

"It will happen," she assures him. "Corypheus is licking his wounds right now. He doesn't have an army to meet us in open combat, so he's using scare tactics, trying to pick off as many of our number as we can. He cannot hope to win- we just need more information before we can make the final blow."

"Information that you want me to get from Cullen."

His voice is flat- still angry, but the tone is less heated now. Leliana watches him and for a moment, he thinks that he can detect a trace of sympathy in her eyes. The other three are watching them quietly- Morrigan _still_ looks amused, the bitch, and Josephine looks rightfully a little frightened.

Samson curls his lip and turns away.

"I think you should go to him," Leliana quietly proposes. Samson doesn't move, doesn't act like he's heard her at first, so she continues. "Offer an olive branch. You appealed to the man he was in Kirkwall today- try and pull more of that out."

"I'm not going to manipulate him."

"Is it manipulation?" Her words are gentle, but the implication of them sting like a slap. "You play the hard general, but you care for him- for what he was, and his misguided ideals, if nothing else. Show him that, and the rest will follow."

He's still not looking at any of them, silent and simmering, with his arms folded across his chest. Leliana steps back gingerly at his nonresponse, and takes her place back near the war table.

The Inquisitor looks toward Morrigan for a moment, before sighing and shaking her head. "I think that's all for today. Get some rest, send out your orders. We'll meet again tomorrow."

For a moment, it almost seems like the witch will say something, but she doesn't- just sweeps her gaze over where Cullen had laid his pieces and turns to leave. Josephine follows her, clearly a little distressed at the heightened tempers that had been in the room in the past hour. Leliana seems to know when she's overstayed her welcome as well, and so after she shares a look with the Inquisitor that Samson can't see, she makes her exit.

Things are silent there for awhile, Samson quiet near the window and the Inquisitor looking at the abandoned table. It would be awkward if the two of them weren't both so lost in thought, and Cadash steps aside to look over some of the letters that they kept on the edge of the table- mostly requests for help, some of it information gathering, and various other queries that she tended to delegate to her advisers. Samson watches her, but says nothing.

Finally, she speaks, reading from the letter in her hand.

"'I've seen the transformations. It's a horror to watch your soldiers' faces change, to realize they might not remember you day to day.' How could a man do that to people under him?"

Samson snorts, kicking a foot against the wall.

"Hell if I know."

There's a pause, and Cadash slowly puts the letter down, moving around the table so she can lean her waist against it, arms folded in front of her. "...you hate him, don't you?"

If it was anyone else- Leliana, Josephine, _anyone_ \- Samson would have scoffed and lied. But with the Inquisitor asking, he can only find himself falling silent, the vulnerability of the lack of confirmation making him feel weak. He doesn't know if he does. He remembers- he remembers a man, strong in the face of a corrupt Order. He remembers a boy who cried in his sleep and jumped at his shadow. He remembers a _monster_ , who he had to hold upright to give him the drug he craved.

Samson grits his teeth.

"You know I don't give a shit about the so-called 'Integrity of the Order'. I don't care that Cullen sold out his vows. I care that he sold out his _men_. If I had stayed in Kirkwall, he would have turned me into one of those things. How can I not hate that?"

The Inquisitor doesn't have an answer. She looks at the letter once more, before placing it back on the pile and looking over the table.

"I feel like I've been around Leliana too much, because I want to tell you that you didn't answer my question."

"Andraste's tits you have," Samson rolls his eyes, finally looking back toward the table. Toward her. "I don't know. That's the end of it. It's all a big fucking mess, and I wish that you would have just let me beat it out of him, because this whole- looking at him, pretending to be his friend, it's making everything worse."

And fuck her, the dwarf laughs at that- a little chuckle, but still a laugh. Samson glares at her in return.

"What part of that was friendly? Where you grabbed him by the neck and held him over the table? Or the part where you said that the Venatori leader was the better general?"

"Oh, shut up. I'm shit at making friends."

"Yeah, I know." She stands up fully then, approaching him. Cadash comes up to his waist on a good day, and so it looks ridiculous when she gives his arm a playful punch, but she does it anyway. "But I like you alright. And Cullen... well, it'll either work with him or it won't. I can't say I envy your position, but I trust your judgement. Do what you feel is necessary- you know what's at stake."

He does. They might have the war all but won, but rooting out the last of Corypheus' army could take time- time that the enemy would use to do as much damage as they can. Cullen's silence is measured in human life, and if Samson can prevent that? If he can save some of the men in his army? It has to be worth any measure of personal sacrifice.

He's so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't realized that the Inquisitor had left the room, leaving him alone with the war table. Samson hesitates then, moving slowly back toward the map and finding himself standing in the place that Cullen had stood. Silently, he reaches for one of the red pieces that the former general had laid down and plucks it off of the map, turning the figure in his gloved hand.

_Prove that I still know that man._

Cullen's eyes were still red. Samson wonders if they would ever change back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jfc this is the slowest I have ever written a pairing development, but I sat down last night and plotted the rest of it out and now I have a basic timeline for the rest of this trash heap of a fic. So I can say with authority that I swear they will mash their faces together soon.
> 
> Thanks again for getting this far! As always, feedback is appreciated c:


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